Tom Hiddleston Oneshots.

The Army of King Henry V of England

It had been thirteen hours and six minutes since Henry had left for court. Usually, her beloved would return at the eighth hour, making her wait no more than ten. His delay alarmed her; she knew something was wrong. She felt it in the air; it pierced her lungs and penetrated her skin, making itself known in her bones: something was wrong.

So against her better judgment, the queen sneaked out into the nightly corridors of the castle. She trod lightly, her steps a delicate echo.

The queen made her way to the courtroom and stuck to the shadows. The guards dare not question her whereabouts, and neither would they do anything to fall out of her favour. Of course, there were guards stationed outside of the courtroom.

"The queen requests privacy. Return to your posts upon my departure."

The guards did as told; their metal armour clanked loudly, as they scampered away. The queen took a deep breath and practically made one with the door. She pressed her body against it and tightly shut her eyes, tuning into the conversation of the courtroom. She knew that those rambunctious men tended to get loud; she was bound to hear some of their affairs leak through the walls.

Their usual animated banter and masculine declarative shouts waned to uncertain, inaudible murmurs. As far as she could ascertain, there were very few councilmen present in the meeting. Them, along with her husband, have said very little and have spoken very quietly. She was about to leave when her husband's stentorian voice reverberated within the walls of the palace. She heard each word loud and clear.

"There was an attempt on my life, an attempt on our England! This is an act of war!"

The queen tightly clenched her palms into fists as she took a deep breath. She was aware of the assassination attempt, as was most in the palace, but no one said a word, in fear of upsetting the already tense king. He would deal with it in due time.

"England has been idle far too long." His pause made the dread in her stomach fester.

It was time.

"As of dawn, we good English set forth upon France."

Those words elicited the incoherent murmurings of his councilmen and the shock of reality through her veins. Her husband will be at war, England is now at war, they are now an enemy of France.

She felt herself grow weak after acquiring such news. She let out a tiny gasp; the breath she had been holding in made her head spin. She stumbled away from the door and retreated as quickly as she could. She heard the large doors open, the mighty sound echoing in the halls. The pitter-patter of her footsteps paled in comparison to the noisy march of the men emptying from the room.

The queen retreated to their rooms. It was late; the moon had taken the sun's spot, and the earth grew dark. When she returned to their private chambers, a servant was preparing their bath. A large, brass tub, was filled with water.

"The king has requested a private bath, your majesty."

The servant taking care of the affair addressed her and quickly left her alone. The bathwater was warm, and the soap was fragrant. It smelled like the lavender field she used to frolic in as a child. Along with the bath essentials, was their nightclothes. She even spotted some lotion.

They were to share a night of luxury and bliss before tackling the canker of war. She scrunched her nose at the thought of it all. The roughness and tragedy that accompanies the feat, it always deeply unsettled her.

She began to strip, discarding the jewels, finery and fabrics of her usual day attire. She didn't even flinch when their bedroom door was flung open. She didn't have to look to know it was her husband's ragged breath lingering at the door. She could feel his gaze burn into her bareback and stop at her bottom. He never could resist the urge to leer at her naked form. She knew she could virtually control the kingdom, with her nakedness, through him.